Quotable
by AkaOkamiRyu
Summary: [Love may defy description. It may even be beyond words. But, now and then, it can certainly be quotable.] A series of Greg/Morgan one-shots, inspired by different quotes. Installment #9: Faith, now updated. Greg-centric post episode follow up to the season opener.
1. Obsession

I was once an avid CSI fan. Over the seasons, I started watching it now and then when I was home and didn't have much else to watch, but this season has drawn me back in completely. I really like Morgan's character, I think she brings back that spunk and easy, carefree banter that's been a bit missing of late. And, as Greg has always been my favorite character, it's nice to see someone more his age to bring that side of him back out as well. Needless to say, I love their little flirty moments, which inspired this story.

Each chapter will be a different one-shot that pertains to a quote in some way.

Disclaimer: I like to pretend I'm a cool crime lab scientist when I'm doing DNA abstractions in my lab research class at college, clearly I am not quite cool enough to own this show (but oh, if I did).

Obsession has some semi-spoilers for CSI Unplugged.

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><p>Obsession<p>

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><p>"Obsession is the single most wasteful human activity, because with an obsession you keep coming back and back and back to the same question and never get an answer." Norman Mailer<p>

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><p>It's sitting there, innocuously. Just like it has for more than a week now. Nothing's different, it hasn't changed. It hasn't even been knocked or wiggled from where she first set it down.<p>

She's been staring at it for ten minutes and she knows it.

Shift ended twenty minutes ago. She knows that too.

The report she's been working on has autosaved twice without changes and she actually doesn't know that, but she does realize that her fingers have been still on the keyboard unnecessarily long.

Even so, the clock ticks forward and she remains at an impasse, her eyes slowly losing focus on the object itself, her mind thinking back to how it came to rest on the right far corner of her desk, wandering back to the crazy shift.

It's stupid.

She's slightly obsessed, and she doesn't even know why. It's just a bunch of metal and glass and knobs and tubes. It's not like it has the answers to any of the questions she's not even certain she's asking. And it certainly doesn't contain any secrets about the report that she should be finishing right now (autosave number 3 has just been completed).

Still, for whatever reason, it keeps catching her off guard and commanding her attention. (She's not about to admit this is the fourth time this week either).

Stupid microscope.

With unnecessary force, she slides her keyboard tray back into her desk, startling the only other person who seems as unable to finish their paperwork and get home as she is.

"Everything alright Morgan?" Greg asks with enough legitimate concern that it only serves to further unravel her rapidly fraying nerves. He's looking up from his own monitor, a tired smile on his face—perhaps amused to know he's not the only one who's struggling. But, she reminds herself, at least he's struggling because he's working. She can't even manage to keep her mind on what she needs to do.

She meets his concern with an equally weary smile and shrug of her shoulders—dismissive but grateful. "Just trying to finish this case report." There's an offhand motion to her computer as she stands, bringing her arms above her head and stretching muscles she hadn't known were tense.

"Think I'm gonna go get some coffee, see if it helps me focus. Want some?" With any luck the caffeine will at least get her jacked enough to not be able to concentrate on any one thing for long—maybe she can manage to distract herself from obsessively staring down her microscope and manage to get herself to jump back and forth between the report and, well, anything else.

The good natured amusement in his voice (she's often the more businesslike of the two of them, he likes seeing her frazzled and distracted from the task at hand for once) lifts her spirits and she really hopes that **that** is not one of the things that her caffeine wired brain will be thinking about. "If you're offering, yeah."

She bites her tongue against comebacks she might otherwise say and nods as she heads out of the room, not bothering to ask how he wants it. After five months of working together, she knows. (She stubbornly refuses to think about the fact that she doesn't how anyone else takes their coffee—or indeed, if Sara even likes the energy spiking liquid).

The short trip to the break room does serve to jumble up her thoughts a bit and the familiar process of making coffee requires just enough concentration that she can let go of everything else as she does it. Of course, ten minutes later she's grabbing a mug she knows is his favorite (black with white writing, a double helix on the front, the nucleotide amino acid sequences on the back) and filling it with coffee, half a creamer, and a flat topped spoonful of New York Vanilla ice cream from the freezer. She dumps the rest of his creamer into her own cup with a heaping pile of sugar, and uses the spoon from his ice cream to mix her cup as well.

Walking back to their office (devoid the other, productive members of their team who's desks are neat, tidy and empty), the glass case catches the corner of her eye and she sighs. Here she goes again.

Shaking her head against the thoughts, she steps back into the office as autosave number nine finishes up, walking past her desk to pass a cup off to Greg, ignoring the fact that he doesn't even have to ask which is his (apparently he knows that the cup with the night skyline of the strip has become her favorite).

"Thanks," he comments genuinely, taking a long, savoring sip. Morgan turns around to avoid watching him and looks anywhere but at that damn microscope as she crosses the space back to her desk.

She's sunken into her chair and taken her own long draw of coffee before she answers back, "you're welcome," following the words with another satisfying sip.

As she waits for the caffeine, glorious and very much needed, to sink in, she devotedly looks anywhere but the right hand corner of her desk. Unfortunately, that means her gaze almost always ends up going left, crossing the room to the desk kiddie-corner to hers and while this is clearly unhelpful and certainly unwanted, she can't help but admire how insistently he is working. Then again, as lead for the case, he does have rather more notes to put together than she does (thank God).

"How far are you?" His voice startles her errant thoughts, only to be further startled as she realizes his eyes are on her and she's probably been caught staring (she crosses her figurative fingers that her unfocused gaze just looked zoned out).

Smiling sheepishly, hoping to play it all off, she gazes down at her screen, watching the word 'autosave' fade away (eleven). "I've probably got about three-quarters of it done, why?"

"You wanna go grab breakfast and then come in early to finish? Coffee just made me realize I haven't eaten since I got here."

Odd. She hadn't realized how hungry she was, but now that he mentioned it, she was starving.

She really should finish, reports are easier to do, and honestly best done, with the case fresh in the mind. She's opening her mouth to tell him she'll pass when she turns her head slightly and sees the microscope. As if she'll get any work done.

"Yes, get me out of here."

They leave their computers and coffee cups where they lay, grab their coats and hit the parking lot. He offers to drive, saying he can easily drop her off on his way home and grab her to come in an hour or two before shift.

They laugh and swap stories and just chat as they wait for their breakfast. Amidst the light hearted, much too easy chatter, one image keeps floating around in the back of her mind whenever they hit a lull: the damn microscope.

Autosave number 41.

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><p>I've started writing this a bunch of ways a bunch of times, always with the idea of Morgan being distracted by the microscope and her having it on her desk. I just love that scene, really that whole episode, and wanted to expand on it. My first CSI fanfiction in a good long time.<p>

Feedback is always appreciated, let me know what you think or if you have comments/concerns/thoughts/suggestions.

Take care!

AkaOkamiRyu


	2. Coffee

This came to mind shortly after I posted 'Obsession' and I've been working at it off and on, finally with some results I mostly like. Although chronology's not terribly important, this would take place before 'Obsession'. No spoilers here.

Disclaimer: While I will be making lots of CSI references in the Solutions Biology class I'll be teaching this fall, I do not actually own CSI.

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><p>Coffee<p>

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><p>"It's amazing how the world begins to change through the eyes of a cup of coffee!" Donna A. Favors<p>

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><p>Coffee is her God and Savior.<p>

Heavy footed and exhausted, Morgan shuffles into the break room at quarter after five, all but squinting in an attempt to keep her eyes focused. The sweet smell of salvation lingers on the air and the room is filled with the glorious sound of percolation. "Please tell me you're willing to share," she remarks to Greg, who is seated at the table with a mug wrapped around his hands and his gaze absently watching the brewing pot.

Startled out of his distant thoughts, he smiles slightly and nudges a chair out from under the table, motioning for her to sit. "Rough shift?" he asks, sliding the half mug of coffee over to her as she sits. "It's pretty fresh, all that was left of the last pot." He adds by way of explanation, waving off her protests that she doesn't mind waiting. She looks like she needs it, and he's had two cups since he got back from his crime scene a few hours ago.

Morgan slips her fingers through the cup's handle gratefully, taking a deep breath and a long, savoring sip, eyes fluttered shut. Exhaling heavily, she sets it back down and absently tries to trace the flavor before answering. "People are sick," which they both know and see too often. Still, the triple she's been working since she came in last night is one of the worst she's seen in a long time. Between deep drinks of his coffee—she still can't quite place the flavor and is wondering how he takes it—she goes over the details as they become clearer in her now caffeine jumpstarting memory. Greg makes a good audience she also realizes vaguely, somewhere in the distant recesses of thought: he nods in all the right places, clarifies with a question when she glosses over a detail too quickly, and his brow knits itself into a puzzled expression as he thinks it over.

He seems to be unable to come to any new conclusions (neither has she), and so settles for a chuckle that seems to chase away the last of her weary restlessness, "no wonder you needed to coffee."

She laughs at that as well, taking another drink as amicable silence settles around them a moment before she asks, "How's your case going?" He'd been called away on a colo expedition shortly after arriving on scene.

"Pretty standard, shouldn't be too hard, just a lot of prints and receipts to sift through to eliminate suspects." The smash and grab had been simple, it was just a matter of comparing the vast multitude of prints to sales records to find their perp. It was precisely that, a combination of swirling ridge details and tiny receipt printing, that had driven his strained eyes to the break room.

Morgan nods sympathetically as she drains the last of the half-cup, which Greg promptly reaches for. She opens her mouth to protest only to have him cut her off. "You've been on your feet for hours, relax, let me get it."

She's grateful enough that she thinks she might very well kiss him in thanks, except that would involve getting up and following him across the room to the coffee pot, and she's not quite sure she could manage it without at least another half cup of caffeine in her. Instead she settles for a verbal response and watching him as he works.

Somewhat revived from the small bit of caffeine working its way through her bloodstream, Morgan notices for the first time that Greg looks particularly handsome tonight (though perhaps this has more to do with staring at three well carved bodies for hours on end than him putting forth any more effort than normal). His hair is styled as usual and his dark washed jeans are not out of his norm, but the button up he's wearing, sleeves rolled halfway up his arm, (minus his usual jacket, which is sprawled on a chair) is a jewel toned shade of blue that seems to light up his dark eyes. "Date before shift?" She asks without thinking, realizing only moments later that the question will seem strange and out of context.

As expected, he turns around midway through pulling down a cup for himself, looking at her curiously from over his shoulder. "No?" He replies hesitantly, eyes quizzical. "Why?"

Morgan shrugs absently, plowing forward despite the blunder. "Just the shirt," she explains, as if this should sum up that conclusion, "it's nice, I like the color." She adds in.

Greg just chuckles. "You need coffee, stat," comes his witty rejoinder, turning back to their cups to avoid the hint of color that's rising up his cheeks. He fills them with fresh coffee, then proceeds to the fridge with a spoon, "how do you take it?"

"The last cup was good," Morgan tells him, mostly because she's curious to see what was in it. Her eyes are still on him (definitely not appreciating the way the blue fabric moves over his shoulders) as he opens the freezer and pulls out a small container of New York Vanilla ice cream. He brings it back to their cups and places a flat topped spoonful in each, then splits a cream between them, stirring for a long moment while she watches on silently. She doesn't question the mixture, but notes that the flavor suddenly makes sense.

After a bit more stirring (certainly not spent suddenly fixated on how nice his jeans look on him and wondering how she's never quite noticed before), Greg returns the ice cream to the freezer, the spoon to the sink, and takes a mug in each hand to make his way back to the table.

He hands her the cup carefully, their fingers just brushing as they work together, his stumbling awkwardly as he maneuvers them out from his one-handed grip. They both give in to a breathy half laugh at the ridiculousness of it, while both being likewise a bit impressed the exchange doesn't result in a single drop spilled.

Raising their cups simultaneously, breathing to cool them, they avoid catching eyes and each take a drink. The liquid, delicious and strong and just slightly too hot, clears the remaining cobwebs from Morgan's mind and is so good after everything that's happened so far that she can't help the moan of satisfaction that rumbles through her throat. Thankfully her eyes are closed for it, and she misses the way the sound makes Greg tense and his face tighten for just a moment, stealing a glance at her features before her takes another deep, steadying drink.

"You," she says breathily several otherwise silent drinks later, "are my hero Greg Sanders." Her voice still has that heavy, sort of sleepy, sort of sated sound to it (he very resolutely does not think about what other situation or events might bring those qualities out). Standing, throwing back the last of the dark liquid, she drops the cup in the sink, turning to smile at him. "Thanks for the coffee break. See you in prints?" And her usual tone—light, friendly, always just slightly flirty—is back and very much not helping.

"Anytime," he replies, as convincingly forced casual as his nod. As soon as she's down the hall he stands up and moves stiffly to the coffeepot, suddenly drowning in an exhaustion (and perhaps something else entirely) that he hadn't felt earlier.

Another cup (black) and he's in the print lab, (not) watching her across the table.

Coffee is his God and Savior.

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><p>For someone who doesn't even like the smell of coffee, I have a bit of an obsession with it as a plot device. Just a way to tie in Morgan's familiarity with his coffee preferences and a showing of a perceptional shift in regards to Morgan's thoughts of Greg.<p>

My next installment, 'Home', should be up in few days. It would have been up Friday, but I saved the wrong document off my work computer and couldn't get access to it until today.

Also, within the next week I'll be coming out with a new series call 'You're It', which will be a series of episode tags. The goal is to have 1 for each episode in season 12 and hopefully beyond as the new season starts. Right now it's just a matter of deciding if I want to do them in order or just post the ones I have now.

As always, reviews, comments and suggestions are appreciated. If you have any quotes you like that you think would fit these two well, or just ones you'd like to see used, please feel free to share those as well and I'll do my best to use them.

Take Care!

AkaOkamiRyu


	3. Do Over

Quotable #3 was suppose to be 'Home', but I was watching Miami Medical (a show that Elisabeth Harnois was on until it was cancelled), and this just struck me as her character and Dr. Proctor talk about do overs at the end of episode 2. It's shorter than the others, but I think it might be my personal favorite so far.

This has no spoilers and I have no idea when it would take place. It has no ties to the current Quotable installments and it would certainly take place in a time beyond the events of season 12, where her relationship with her father is as reconciled as possible. Also, they are not in an established relationship in the timeline of this fic, just very close friends.

Dislaimer: I'm a poor student teacher. I work what is essentially a more than full time job that I don't even get paid for, while paying my tuition and being assured I don't have time for a job that actually does pay. Obviously I do not own these characters.

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><p>Do Over<p>

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><p>"If I had it all to do over again, I would do most all things differently. However, how would I know that, if I had not had the opportunity to do them the first time?" Janice Markowitz<p>

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><p>They're just standing there, looking out at the lake, the sun slipping toward the horizon and the first faint glow of stars studding a velvet sky.<p>

"Why Vegas?" He asks, voice quiet but not whispering, filled with a hushed sort of uncertainty that would have made the words a question regardless of which words he'd chosen to use.

"I needed a do over," she answers, her own voice soft with reminiscence. It had been the hardest decision she'd ever made. Not the leaving, no, that had been obvious. Her supervisors were not impressed with her actions on the Haskell case. In fact, she was probably lucky that leaving had been a decision at all and not a necessity.

Vegas had been a hard choice. Facing a past and a father she'd spent years trying to leave behind had been a hard choice.

Still lost in thought, she slips down into the sand, seating herself with her knees bent in front of her, not quite cuddled to her chest. Blue eyes cast up to him, an unspoken invitation for him to join her.

He does so without question (she thinks she could very well fall (be falling) in love with him, with this understanding he has for her; that she thinks she might just have for him).

Greg doesn't speak for a long while. Again, against all logic, he knows not to, knows that there's more she needs to say and that she's just deciding how to say it, testing the words in her own mind first. When the silence begins to thin, like a string stretched too far, he shifts slightly and lets his shoulder press gently against hers, shattering the quiet with things that don't need to be spoken aloud.

In the contact—in the gentle, reassuring solidarity of his presence—she finds the way the words fit together. "You don't get real do overs, you can't actually erase what's already happened. I don't know how you'd know what to do if you did. But I realized I was at a point where I could either spend my life living down the past, or spend my life living with it and moving forward." The next pause is shorter, an intake of breath, the memory of that moment of resolve and decision. "I wanted to move forward."

He nods and the hand that's been resting on his shin slides over to trace her fingers, an invitation of support that she reciprocates without even thinking about it, twining their hands together and letting them rest between them, half in her lap. "I'm glad you did," this time in a true whisper, his words teetering on the edge of an admission.

She squeezes their interwoven digits, lets out a breath and doesn't fight the small smile that ghosts over her lips as she turns her head towards him. "Me too," and it's simultaneously the most honest and vulnerable and content she's felt in a long time.

He doesn't say any of the things that his actions have hinted at. She doesn't ask and neither of them feels the need to rectify the situation. It's all hovering between them, around them, within them, filling all the extra spaces (and some of the not extra spaces, but that's okay too). Somehow, they both know and that's enough for the moment.

They watch the sun slip farther, the sky darken, the stars brighten. Her head tips onto his shoulder, and he can feel her long, blonde waves pool between his shirt collar and neck and it tickles just a bit as she nestles against his side.

It's not a do over, just a do. She hasn't erased her past, but she's come to terms with it. Cases with absent fathers and divorces will always get to her, but she knows that one day (if this goes all the places her heart's no longer shying away from) both her dads will walk her down the aisle.

And that, and this, and all of it, is much better than any do over.

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><p>I didn't explain the trigger to the scene within the story because I liked the pacing as it was, but I envision it a bit like this: Morgan and Greg work a case involving some sort of father issue, a deadbeat or absent dad. I think those cases, given her past, would be Morgan's kryptonite, ala Sara and abuse cases circa the first seasons. After the case wraps, seeing how it's bothered Morgan, Greg asks if she'd like to go for a ride and he takes her here, to his 'thinking place'. I think the beach at Lake Mead at night would be that place, because it would remind him of California and the ocean a bit.<p>

Expect an update again in the next few days. 'Home' is in the polishing stages, I'm about half done with 'Country Music' and there are a few other ideas bouncing around in my mind and on my keyboard.

Reviews, comments, ideas are always very much appreciated! Feedback helps me to do better with future projects.

Take Care & Best Wishes,

AkaOkamiRyu


	4. Home

I've been working on this one for quite a while, and I'm not sure it ended up where I intended it to when I started, but overall I'm pleased with the detour it made. Reminiscent of the beginning of CSI Down when Greg and Morgan are bickering about Vegas versus Los Angeles and inspired by the last sentences of madhatter1981's "Thoughts of a Prodigal Daughter".

Disclaimer: Let us assume you have been made previously aware of my lack of ownership.

'Home' makes reference to the events of CSI Down. It doesn't really tie in to any other Quotables—well, there is a tiny, microscopic, sort-of reference to Do Over.

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><p>Home<p>

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><p>"The light is what guides you home, the warmth is what keeps you there." Ellie Rodriguez<p>

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><p>The first shift she comes back to work after the whole helicopter thing, she's paired with Greg. It makes her nervous at first: she's put it behind her and she doesn't need Greg's guilt to bring it all back up, because it's taken her three days to sleep mostly through the night and she doesn't want to go back to that place again.<p>

She shouldn't have worried; he never brings it up once. The second she walks in the break room for assignments she feels him give her one good look over. It's not the creepy kind that random men might give at bars, but rather a caring sort of thorough glance and there's this voice in the back of her mind (or a sense or a feeling, something innate and subconscious) that tells her he's just confirming she's alright. After that, it's never mentioned or even alluded to. Apparently he's satisfied that she's going to be okay. Either that or he doesn't care, but they're teammates and friends, so she doesn't imagine that's the case—well that and the fact that he was the first one to approach her after **it** all happened and the relief on his face was unmistakable.

In fact, he acts as if the whole thing never happened and decides to pick up their 'argument' from that morning as they head to their botched robbery. (She plays at annoyed when he randomly starts listing out all of the reasons that Vegas is better than Los Angeles, but she knows she's smiling and he can see it, so it's all good).

They're nearly to the scene when Greg gives one mighty huff of annoyance—she hasn't given him an inch in this argument (and honestly, he likes that about her, heavy sigh inducing as it might sometimes be). "Okay, for now I agree that we're at a stalemate, but I think you need to give me a chance to prove you wrong."

It's something between an offer and a challenge and she's pretty sure she knows where he's going, but making it easy for him at this point would take the fun out of it all. "How do you plan to do that, when I'm so clearly right?" She sounds serious, maybe even a little conceited, but she's smiling again and she's pretty sure she's smiled more in this twenty minute car ride than the entire last three days.

Greg's smiling too. He likes a challenge and he loves this city and for some reason he is determined that she should love it too. (He's trying not to analyze that and instead concentrates his energy on just making it happen).

"Night after tomorrow, we have the off shift on rotation. Give me a chance to actually show you Vegas, not just the glittery, touristy crap. If you're still not convinced after that, then I'll admit defeat."

That same innate sense that's able to translate the meaning of his break room look prickles a bit, like it has a slightly guarded feeling about where this all might be going. It's not much, just the vaguest feeling, but it's enough to tempt Morgan to say no, claim she's busy. But as they pull up to the scene she gets a good look at his smiling, eager expression and her resolve buckles. "One chance, Sanders," she grins, clicking out of her seatbelt and getting out of the SUV.

His smile is wide and excited and just a little smug (and, okay, maybe, slightly also a tiny bit sexy as well, but that thought would definitely set that inner sense off, so she's determinedly not going there).

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><p>Early Tuesday evening finds her debating whether or not to text Greg. When they'd left the lab, he had told her to be ready by five but had given no other information to prepare her. Generally unruffle-able, Morgan isn't too worried except in that she's not sure what she's supposed to be wearing for this Las Vegas adventure he's got planned. And it's not like it really matters (she's not trying to impress anyone after all) but she would like to make sure she doesn't wear sneakers to a casino or heels for some big walking tour or something like that—she believes in being practical.<p>

She's still sitting on her bed staring at her closet at 4:20 when he texts to say he's on his way (which seems ridiculous considering his apartment is barely 2 miles from hers, stupid Vegas traffic). She replies with an '_okay, thanks_' and then decides to bite the bullet. _This 'make Morgan like Vegas best' thing comes with what kind of dress code exactly?_

She can practically hear his chuckle as he replies back, _Dressy cas & comfortable shoes_.

By the time Greg is climbing the stairs to her apartment; she's putting the finishing touches on her usual make up and tugging on a pair of black not-quite-flats that have seen their fair share of miles. They're her favorites, plenty comfortable, and they fit the whole nice-but-not-trying-too-hard look that she's fairly certain she's captured with her dark wash jeans and royal blue peasant top. She's just rummaging through her closet for a light jacket to combat the cool desert evening when his knock sounds on the door.

Abandoning the search momentarily, she moves through the apartment to open the front door, greeting him with a smile and a hello and to which he replies, "Hey Hollywood," in that warmly friendly way he has.

She tries to quash down the fond smile that the nickname evokes as she ushers him inside, explaining that she just needs a jacket and she'll be ready to go, except it widens to an all-out grin without her meaning for it to and she decides she's lost the ignoring game. She leaves him in the kitchen for a moment, telling him if he's thirsty to help himself to anything in the fridge, while she goes back to her closet, battling down the burst of warmth and excitement that his nickname and presence seem to have induced. The process means that it takes her twice as long to find her jacket, and by the time she's returned to the kitchen he's made himself quite comfortable, looking very nearly as if he belongs there.

"Ready to go?" He asks, pulling himself off the island stool he's managed to settle on while waiting.

She snags her keys and clutch from the countertop as she answers and follows him to her door. "As ready as I can be until you tell me where we're going." She manages to just pull up short as he suddenly turns around, shaking his head with that same boyishly eager grin that she has come to find so reassuring even in the midst of the longest, grisliest cases.

"Now what fun would that be?" Greg asks, laughing and relishing in the suspense. He has no intention of ruining the surprise. This is, after all, his one chance to convince Morgan of Las Vegas's superiority over Los Angeles. He also suspects it might be his one chance to win her over on not only Vegas, but on him—something he hadn't thought about it when he'd asked her on this adventure, but which he's certainly been thinking about it constantly since.

His comment is rewarded by her own laugh, a sound he's hoping to hear a lot more of in the near future. "I guess I'll just see when we get there then," she acquiesces, sliding into his car after he pulls the door open, dutifully not making a fuss over the unnecessary chivalry. After all, it's not like this is a date (that strange voice/feeling in the back of her mind seems to have migrated, with a fit of jumping jacks, to her stomach at that thought), but at the same time, she did promise to let him have the night to win her over to Las Vegas, so who is she to argue off his plan of attack?

"That you will." He agrees, settling into the driver's seat. "Now, let's get Operation Morgan's Gonna Love Las Vegas started." Greg jokes as he pulls out of his parking spot and begins their adventure.

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><p>It's well after midnight by the time Greg pulls into her apartment parking lot, slipping the car into park and smiling across the front seat at her, an eyebrow raised in question. "Well?"<p>

Morgan is quiet a long while, letting her mind wander back through the evening. True to his word, Greg hadn't taken her to a single place that would have been deemed a tourist site. Instead they'd been to a beautiful park she'd never heard of, a fantastic Italian restaurant a few blocks off the strip, a homemade ice cream shop and several other out of the way, but fantastic places she'd never been. She'd had a great time, to say the least, and had definitely seen the more charming parts of Las Vegas she'd never imagined existed, the heart she had been certain the city was missing.

Greg Sanders has pretty much converted her into a true Las Vegas believer in the course of one evening.

After a moment, she smiles back at him, her usual bright, slightly sassy grin, "You still can't beat the Lakers or the ocean."

He just laughs, eyes bright with the knowledge that he's winning her over (maybe in more ways than one?). "Well, I only had one night. Those are two pretty tall orders."

Morgan's laugh joins his, the sound filling the car with a sort of warmth that settles under her skin and with a feeling that seems a lot like home. "Round two next week?"

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><p>They're on round six (he's won out the Lakers, but she's holding out for something big to beat the ocean) when she realizes that they just might be dating.<p>

It's certainly been a month full of events that most people would call dates—a mid-morning museum trip, an afternoon baseball game, a post work visit to a farmer's market which is followed by Greg making her the best homemade strawberry waffles she's ever had (the Lakers never stood a chance), and a movie day at her place with every classic Vegas heist movie he can find at the video store.

This afternoon they're at Lake Mead, enjoying the warm sun and a lazy midday before work, hidden away on some small spot of beach that seems to be unknown to tourists or other invaders.

They're sprawled on the sand, watching the clouds drift by and talking about whatever comes to mind: their families, college, favorite books. As Greg explains his (unexpected) love of Jane Austen novels, Morgan realizes she can't remember the last time she's felt so at home and at peace. Smiling at this knowledge, she shifts onto her side to look at Greg, who turns his head in response to her movement.

Whatever he sees in her features surprises him, but in a good way, because a full blown, thousand watt, Greg Sanders grin lights his face and for a comfortably long moment he regards her with a searching glance. Seeming to reach some conclusion, he leans over and kisses her, as if it's something they've always been doing, or something he's been planning all along (honestly, she doesn't really think about it too much—she's a little preoccupied with returning the gesture).

As they draw apart, they're looking at each other with smiles (but no nervousness, no uncertainty—there is no doubt or worry in Greg Sander's eyes, just warmth and affection and something that's been growing and has room to grow more).

Las Vegas 1. Los Angeles 0.

The ocean has officially been blown out of the water.

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><p>Anyone know what the Do Over reference was? Let me know if you saw it.<p>

My apologies for the nearly week stretch between Do Over and this. My roommate and I are working on moving out of our house, so things have been a bit busy. Country Music is just getting some polishing, so it'll be up in a few days, however, the other fics I've been working on may not be out yet this next week.

Reviews are very much appreciated and thank you to everyone who has reviewed so far (snowii, Brii Taylor, Demi Sanders, DanceThroughMyStory and especially Eric and Nell's Oreos). Another big thank you to trekwarstheory for your PM. You folks are a huge part of my inspiration to keep writing/polishing/publishing.

Any ideas and comments are a huge help to me in making these stories better and something you'll hopefully enjoy.

Take Care & Best Wishes,

AkaOkamiRyu


	5. Country Music

Country music just sort of came to me when I was driving home a few weeks ago. It's more playful and light, spontaneous side of things, which is a bit different from the others, which contain some hint of build up as they go.

Not in any sort of continuity with the other Quotables, and there aren't any spoilers for season 12, though it would take place in a post-season 12 world.

Disclaimer: Don't own it, but oh how I wish I did!

Also, big thanks to Eric and Nell's Oreos, trekwarstheory, madhatter1981, StarlitWave10 and thephoenix1996 for your reviews on Home. (Phoenix, yours was just the push I needed to get in gear and finish the last scene of this one!). You guys are fantastic and I really appreciate hearing from you all!

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><p>Country Music<p>

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><p>"Country music is three chords and the truth." Harlan Howard<p>

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><p>They rarely get an evening out together, not surprising considering that it's morning when their shifts usually end, and the hours most people spend 'out' are the ones they spend working. So when the whole team has an evening off (the result of a nearly round the clock search for a missing child that had lasted three days and ended far better than they'd been beginning to hope), they take full advantage.<p>

After a morning and afternoon of sleep, they meet for dinner and then head to Doc's favorite bar. It's an out of the way sort of place, cozy and a bit country, and everyone feels at home immediately.

There are drinks and stories and they talk about pointless things and tell jokes and remind themselves that their whole lives are about more than death. Dave sings karaoke and Archie cleans Hodges out shooting pool and together their laughter chases away all the ghosts and skeletons and sadness of the past year.

Finn, Sara and Henry play darts for awhile, with D.B calling out pointers. Greg takes Hodges' place at the pool table and holds his own against Archie until eventually Doc Robbins comes and wipes the floor with the both of them. Someone plays Brooks and Dunn on the jukebox, so Nick teaches Mandy, Morgan and Xiomara to line dance.

It's laid back and relaxed and just what everyone needs as they all migrate back to their tables for another drink and some pizza.

Midway through a round of appetizers, while half the group is refilling drinks, the easy melody of a Kenny Chesney song starts playing. Nick is the first to grin and stand, pulling a protesting Sara to her feet and toward the small dance floor. Finn doesn't even give Henry the chance to protest as she steals him from the bar and drags him after the pair. Mandy convinces Doc to do her the honor and they're gone too.

Morgan and Greg are still at the table—Morgan watching the dance floor fill with friends and strangers, while Greg and D.B. talk. The long intro is trailing into the lyrics when she slides over toward them, catching Greg's hand that's previously been making a gesture.

"Dance with me, Sanders?" She smiles playfully, ignoring the mischievous glimmer in their supervisor's eyes.

"Love to Hollywood." His hand closes around hers without a second thought as he slips off his bar stool, guiding her toward the group on the dance floor. Moments later, once they're carefully tangled together and swaying with the music, Greg surprises her by joining Kenny Chesney and Grace Potter as they sing the first chorus.

Startled, completely unaware that Greg actually knows the song, her eyes fly up to meet his. "Didn't know you liked country," she says softly, her smile small but warm and curious.

He returns her gaze and her smile and shrugs just slightly—a gesture she feels in her wrists and the fingers resting against the back of his neck. "Good song," he answers back, "true song," he adds, as if an afterthought.

"Me and tequila, huh?" She teases just above a whisper, one eyebrow arched in playful challenge.

He leans down a little, his forehead touching hers lightly, and holds her gaze as the rest of the world sinks into their periphery. His eyes are bright with mischief, yet intensely sincere even if he tries to make the words sound as offhand as possible. "Mostly just you," Greg breathes, "and maybe a little bit tequila."

She's trying to decide where to go with this information because, casual as he's made it sound; she knows he's being honest. They've been flirting for months, just about since she got to Vegas really—as soon as she'd wised up that Nick (while terribly handsome and as nice as he was good looking) wasn't really the guy for her.

It isn't that she'd consciously decided to move onto Greg, or that he's a better choice or anything like that. It's more that everything with them falls so effortlessly into step. The flirting comes natural, he's easy to be with, and he never wants anything more out of her than who she is. They can talk for hours about nothing or everything and even after so many months of knowing one another, he is constantly surprising her (country music lyrics being just a case in point).

It's something she's never had with anyone else before. As she thinks about it, eyes still holding his as Kenny and Grace sing away, she realizes that while all this flirting is great, she really maybe wants something more than that. And also, she really wants to kiss him (even if they are surrounded by all their friends/coworkers).

In the scarce seconds it takes her to come to this realization, Greg's leaned down and begun singing the words into her ear. "You and tequila make me crazy, run like poison in my blood. One more night could kill me baby, one is one too many, one more is never enough."

His whispering voice in her ear is low and husky, unleashing a flush of heat through her body, head to toe. Morgan just barely manages to choke out his name with some manner of control.

Surprised, he pulls back to search her face, only for her arms to tug him back down to her lips. Just as he did when her hand was on his, Greg reacts without thinking (something that he's pretty sure no woman but Morgan has ever made him do) and kisses her back without question. When they pull apart a few heartbeats later, his forehead once again resting against hers, the question does come, in the form of a lifted eyebrow and a puzzled look.

A Cheshire cat grin slides across Morgan's lips as she looks up at him through coy eyelashes. Her fingers are still against his neck, the tips brushing his hairline, and his still rest on her waist, warm and steadying, and now just a bit searing as the heat between them seems to skyrocket.

"You and tequila make me crazy too."

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><p>A few days later, Morgan is sitting in the passenger seat on the way to a crime scene when her phone goes off, indicating a new text message. Grinning, she pulls it from her pocket.<p>

"Now that smile comes with a story," Finn remarks beside her, glance shifting just in time to catch the blush that dusts Morgan's cheeks as she taps out a reply. "A really good story," the older woman adds teasingly.

"Just have a date after shift," Morgan tries to dismiss, failingly as her ringtone interrupts the low volume of the radio once more. "_you and tequila make me crazy…"_

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><p>.<p>

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><p>Like 'Home' this one was a catalystrelationship starter story, though this time I wanted Morgan to take the initiative. I think that, depending on the situation, it could be either one of them making that first push and this time it was all Morgan.

I couldn't for the life of me decide whether or not to add in that last little scene. It popped into my head as I was writing and I was originally going to make it a separate piece, but I figured it would be shorter than I'd want. What do you guys think? Good addition or should I have left it off after Morgan's comment?

I will say that I'm thinking up a sequel to this one. It may not be one of the next couple chapters, but keep an eye out; it will definitely be making it up here.

On the topic of future projects, I have a few different Quotables in the works, so I'm not sure which one will be next. I might try getting an established relationship story out next, since I haven't had one of those yet. Any preference?

Per usual, your reviews, comments and suggestions are extremely appreciated, so let me know what you're thinking or looking for and I'll do my best to get it to you.

Take Care & Best Wishes,

A.O.R.


	6. Comfortable

So it's been ages. I've no other excuse for my lack of posts but that I started student teaching and my life is, for lack of other term, chaos. Between leaving for school at 6 am and getting home anywhere between 5:30 and 8 pm, I've barely any time to sleep, let alone get a lot of writing done. I do, however, have several pieces in, well, pieces that I try to update whenever I get half a chance. And, if any of the next episodes are half as (freaking) awesome as the last, I think inspiration might just beat me up until I do so.

This installment is, likewise, one I've been typing at awhile. It doesn't actually have any spoilers, nor is it particularly connected to any previous chapter, but it would take place well into the future.

Don't own CSI. If I did, I might not sleep any more at night, but I'd certainly have a good deal more in the bank account.

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><p>Comfortable<p>

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><p>"I don't pretend to know what love is for everyone, but I can tell you what it is for me; love is knowing all about someone, and still wanting to be with them more than any other person, love is trusting them enough to tell them everything about yourself, including the things you might be ashamed of, love is feeling comfortable and safe with someone, but still getting weak knees when they walk into a room and smile at you." unknown<p>

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><p>'And as they embraced, for the first time in two years, it felt like no time had passed at all. Love like theirs was eternal, as familiar and comfortable as a favorite pair of jeans.' Closing the book, Morgan sighed and placed the worn paperback on the coffee table. It was a ridiculously cliché story, but for some reason, it always made her smile—something she sorely needed as she let her gaze cross to the open bedroom door.<p>

Scattered across the floor, in little heaps and piles, was the vast majority of her clothes, including all her own favorite pairs of jeans. She stared sullenly at the mess for a long moment before heaving herself up off the couch.

It was a situation several weeks in the making (longer than that technically, but it had only been the last few weeks that she'd begun weeding out outfit after outfit, pair of pants after pair of pants). Even still, it came as a heart wrenching surprise to realize that none of her clothes fit her anymore—well, save for a few pairs of pajamas. And even though she'd already broken into a stream of moody tears an hour ago (which had been tamed by a combination of cookies, milk and the old romance novel), the emotions bubbled anew and Morgan found herself caught between desperation and frustration as she waded through the sea of fabric, kicking huffily as she walked.

Catching her reflection in the full length mirror on the closet door, her face scrunched up with disgust and she shouted out, "God I look horrible," loudly enough that she never heard the front door open or the rustle of grocery bags as a fresh wave of tears started up. Instead, she sunk back onto the bed with her head in her hands, feeling simultaneously ugly, uncomfortable and ungainly.

Her shout and subsequent tears caught Greg's attention immediately and so, after dropping the bags in the kitchen (with an additional detour to place the ice cream in the freezer), he slipped off his shoes and walked toward the bedroom to attempt to discern why his beautiful wife had disintegrated into tears.

Upon entering the living room, and catching his first glance into the bedroom, Greg quickly put his CSI skills to good use and began to size up the situation. With a fond, but worried sigh, he crossed the living area only to pause in the doorway to their bedroom. If there was one thing he had been learning as of late, it was to never startle his wife when she was upset. She tended to jump and he had no desire to explain a second black eye to his coworkers.

"Morgan, sweetheart, what's wrong?" He called tentatively, watching as her hands fell away and her gaze lifted towards him.

Her eyes were puffy, tears streaked her cheeks, and the vague touch of makeup she'd applied earlier tracked messily from her lashes. Standing, gesturing to the mirror in sweatpants (his) and an old t-shirt (likewise his), she managed to choke out, "I look hideous. And I'm getting fat." To prove her point, she once again kicked at the clothes scattered along the carpet and then dropped back to their bed with another round of sniffles.

"Oh Morgan," Greg sighed, crossing the distance to tug her back to her feet. Smiling softly, he rubbed away her tears and makeup with the sleeve of his shirt, then pulled her toward the mirror, positioning her in front of him, his face over her shoulder.

"Look at you," he said, firm and next to her ear, watching her through the mirror's reflection. "You are gorgeous." He met her reflection's gaze, still wearing that ghost of a smile. "Beautiful, kind eyes. Soft, blonde hair that I love to run my fingers through," he tugged gently on a lock to emphasize his point before his hands slide down to encircle her waist. "A body that makes me crazy," he growled lowly in her ear. "Not the mention that dazzling smile, sexy personality and brilliant mind of yours."

She half snorted, half scoffed in disbelief. "Look at me Greg, I'm a whale."

His fingers moved to rest on her protruding stomach, determined not to chuckle at her stubborn resolve. "Morgan, love, you are not a whale. You are not fat. You are carrying our baby," he pressed a kiss to the side of her head; let his thumbs rub carefully over her belly. "And that is the most beautiful thing in the world. You are the most beautiful thing in the world."

With that he turned her around, gazing down at her with an expression so tender and honest that she thought she might lose her balance, except that Greg's arms were still tight around her as he leaned down to kiss her.

So her jeans didn't fit. Or her work pants. Or her shirts. Hell, even her shoes were getting tight now and then when her stupid feet swelled up. And perhaps her body felt alien and uncomfortable more often than not and she was moody and cranky and randomly broke into tears for no reason at all. Greg clearly found her as beautiful as he ever had and he could, all at once, make her feel comfortable and silly and beautiful and as weak in the knees as he had the first time he'd kissed her.

Clichés and romance novels be damned. Morgan Sanders knew exactly what love was and it was right here, holding her in its gentle grasp.

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><p>I'm honestly not quite sure I tied the quote in as well as I would've liked, but I couldn't find a better way to end it, so I hope it will suffice for you guys. Also, Morgan was crazy moody in this which is out of character for her—but hormones make you crazy. I've been wanting to do a pregnancy story for ages, this was but a snippet. Expect more pregnant moments in the future and especially, some baby moments. My mind's been swirling around some family moments for a long time now.<p>

As always, feedback is very much appreciated—both reviews and PM's.

Thanks to all my patient readers who've gone too long without an update. I swear, you will not wait as long for the next one. Also, I have a lemon about ¾ finished (I swear, trekwarstheory, I will deliver on my promise!) and my goal is, at the very latest, to get it out over my Thanksgiving break, since I have more than a day or two away from school that week.

Once again, thanks for the support, feedback and patience. Until next time!

Take Care & Best Wishes,

A.O.R.


	7. Best Friends

So this idea came to me last night and demanded to be written. Best Friends looks at the friendship between Morgan and Hodges, while also tying in Morganders. Takes place as a post episode piece following the events of 'It Was a Very Good Year'.

As this is the first Quotable that actually coincides with episode events, it has no ties to any of the previous pieces. The Brass Nickel is just a bar I made up (name inspired by the Black Penny in Rookie Blue).

Don't own CSI, I can't even manage the time to watch it when it's actually on. Hope you enjoy!

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><p>Best Friends<p>

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><p>"You can always tell a real friend: when you've made a fool of yourself he doesn't feel you've done a permanent job." Laurence J. Peter<p>

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><p>The moment she leaves the locker room and rounds the corner Morgan's palm finds her way to her forehead with a sharp smack that turns into a lingering hold. Heaving a sigh and mentally berating her foolishness, the same hand slides back down into her jeans pocket to retrieve her phone. She pauses just before the crime lab entrance to send a text—"<em>Please tell me you have time for a drink".<em>

The reply comes quickly, her phone vibrating in her grasp before she's even reached her vehicle. _"Morgan, it's 8:30 in the morning"._

A grin works its way onto her lips despite her mood and, after unlocking her door and settling her bag on the passenger's seat, she types back: _"I know, but I need it. And company. And someone to tell me I'm not a complete idiot"._

She doesn't bother putting her phone away or starting her car until the reply comes back and while she doesn't doubt the answer, Morgan can't help but feel relieved when _"Be there in ten"_ pops up on the screen.

Tossing her phone into her open bag, she starts the car and makes her way towards the Brass Nickel, arriving a few minutes later to its mostly empty parking lot. It's an old, home-y sort of bar, one frequented by CSI's and other law enforcement folks in Vegas, where trouble's hard to find besides the normal trouble normal people have.

She walks in knowing Hodges has beat her there, his car among those few in the lot. He has a bottle of PBR waiting for her at the bar, a glass of wine in his hand. He doesn't turn to her until she's sliding onto the stool beside him and when he does he speaks without preamble, giving her a quick once over and a look of concern.

"Judging by the company you keep, you're clearly not an idiot," he starts, giving her an impish grin in an attempt to lift her spirits, "but what has you thinking you are when you should be soundly sleeping off a wrapped case?"

She doesn't reply until she's taken a drink and even then the first words out of her mouth are, "Thanks Hodges." Morgan takes another drink then, this one longer, before setting her beer back down and shaking her head and rolling her eyes. "First of all, what I'm about to say is in confidence. The first part isn't my information to tell, but the rest won't make sense otherwise."

"Okay?" Hodges replies, both hesitant and curious.

"Also, I need you to be my best friend on this, not a crime lab analyst."

This catches his interest and concern even further but he nods, "of course."

Morgan looks at him sharply, her gaze intensely serious. "I mean it David, this is between us." His deep breath and nod assure her he's serious as well. "The girl from our case, Alison—she and Greg had been together, when she was helping with his book." She considers it a mark of Hodges' growth that he just motions for her to continue. "We learned that she'd come back to see him, wanted the record for him. The case had already been hard on him, that knowledge didn't help."

They're quiet for a moment, Morgan fiddling with the label on her PBR bottle, turned toward the bar while Hodges is turned slightly in toward her. He lets her have her silence and doesn't prod until she's ready. "I bought him copy of the record and was going to the locker room to leave it for him, but he was already in there."

She'd had every intention of leaving at the time, deciding maybe she'd just set the record on his desk—but he looked defeated, uncertain, nothing of the man she was so used to. She couldn't turn back around. She explains this to Hodges before she moves on, knowing only being completely honest about all of it will help.

"So I went in and sat with him. Greg told me that he'd told Alison he'd visit her in New York, knowing he never would. Didn't want to ruin the memory," she smiles sadly at this, because it is so like Greg to want to remember the good instead of giving himself a chance for better. "So I gave him the record and I told him that the best was yet to come."

Hodges, as he's often quick to tell, is not stupid. He knows that the tone of Morgan's voice, the way she's explained the situation, her need for an early morning drink mean that that little phrase was saying more than face value—that there were implications in the way she'd spoken to Greg that were difficult to put into words now.

"So, Greg Sanders…" he trails, not exactly sure how she wants him to respond or even how he should. His personal feelings are not an issue, feelings between them are not an issue either—they've cleared that up. They care about one another, but as friends. Best friends, yes, the best friend he's ever had, yes. But nothing more than that (for which they are both happy and comfortable). Still though, he's not necessarily great at friends, or feelings, so this is uncharted territory.

Morgan huffs a slight laugh, reaching for the neck of her bottle and taking a swig. "Yeah," her eyes roll again, and a sheepish smile quickly disappears behind a drink. "Probably not the best way to have told him, but yeah, Greg Sanders."

"For the record and for what it might be worth, Greg is a good guy, and you're not an idiot." He feels suddenly sheepish about this, not sure if giving his approval is what she's looking for, so he drowns his hesitance in red wine before continuing. "Now, if it had been Henry, you might have been an idiot." It doesn't hurt to bury the uncertainty in a little snark either.

Her laugh tells him it's the right choice. "Thanks Hodges, glad you approve." And honestly, she is. This best friend business between them is still new but she likes it, and she doesn't want to lose it. "You think it'll work out?"

"Yes." And his reply has a conviction that surprises her; causes her to turn in her seat to scrutinize his sincerity. "Morgan, Greg's been interested in you since you came and you're exactly the right person for him." Her surprised look echoes his own feelings as he realizes that it's true and he's been, unknowingly, seeing it for months. "Greg has been a lot more like he used to be, happy and lighthearted, since you got here. And you're always in a good mood when he's around—you'd make a good fit, for a lot of other reasons too. And if he doesn't see that, then, well," another drink of wine and a full, deep laugh, "I'll beat him up or something. Isn't that what friends do?"

They both chuckle over the absurdity of that image—David Hodges is not exactly a fighter, but he does sort of mean it. He wants to see Morgan happy and, if he needs to, he'll do just about whatever it takes to make that happen.

"Thanks Hodges," Morgan replies when they both settle down. Lifting her bottle to clink his glass, they down the rest of their drinks. "We'll see how shift goes tonight I guess." David tosses cash on the bar and they both head for the door and home and sleep, Morgan feeling much better than she had an hour ago.

"Thanks again, for the listening ear and assurance I'm not an idiot," she adds before they go their separate ways.

"No problem Morgan, like I said, you keep excellent company. Clearly not an idiot." Giggling, she nods and slides into her car to rest up for whatever the night ahead will bring, feeling exceptionally grateful that however things turn out with Greg, at least Hodges has her back.

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><p>Honestly, I really like the idea of Morgan and Hodges being best friends and wanted to pull that in and give them a bonding moment. And I thought, what better way to highlight that friendship (rather than romantic relationship) than by having Morgan talk to Hodges about what happened between her and Greg in 'It Was a Very Good Year'?<p>

The next chapter of Dancing Away is about a third to a half done, so that should be up by next Sunday at the latest—hopefully earlier, depending on how busy parent teacher conferences are this week. And new Quotables will be up as they're finished/polished off. Hopefully should have another one up sometime in the next few days.

As always, reviews and suggestions are greatly, greatly appreciated. A big thanks to the anonymous reviewer for last chapter and to mirdaishan, AA, duskbutterfly and Starlitwave10 for your reviews of the first chapter of Dancing Away.

Until Next Time.

Best Wishes & Take Care,

AkaOkamiRyu


	8. Small Things

The idea of small things has been circulating a while but the quote I used and the story line were a last night decision. This would take place sometime late in season 13. I estimated Morgan to be thirty and my mental idea is that Greg is about 35 but if anyone has clear information to correct those ideas, let me know.

Small Things is not in any pre-established fic universe and is completely stand alone. No previous romance just good friends as this point.

Disclaimer: I don't own CSI. I'm just a high school teacher with not enough time on her hands (who is currently avoiding lesson planning and will no doubt regret when I get very little sleep tonight).

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><p>Small Things<p>

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><p>"We cannot all do great things, but we can do small things with great love." Mother Theresa<p>

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><p>It's not something Morgan has ever brought up before—in two years of working in Las Vegas, she's somehow managed to avoid all mention of it, actually—so Greg just assumes that history has made the day a sore subject. In fact, it has taken him those two years to discover what day it is and even then, it's only because he overhears Conrad mention taking her out to dinner to celebrate. Morgan is trying to wave her father off the subject when Greg walks up to share a break in their case and though she hastily drops the conversation, he's still managed to finally learn when her birthday is. He pretends not to have heard and they go off to work.<p>

But the thought of one or two birthdays passing with no notice from her friends bothers him for the rest of shift and by the end of it, Greg can't ignore the guilt any more. As soon as he and Morgan have wrapped up case reports and head to change for breakfast and then home, Greg begins stalling in the locker room. As she stands waiting to walk out to their cars, he shoes her on ahead, with a promise that he'll meet her at the restaurant in just a few minutes.

Greg can't help but grin at the head-shaking smile he receives but Morgan promises to have a cup of coffee waiting for him and heads out. Moving quickly, he pulls on his last sneaker and exits, moving not toward the front parking lot but Ecklie's office. Seeing the sheriff at his desk, staring at what he assumes is some sort of report, Greg knocks quietly and waits to be acknowledged.

"Sanders, come in," Conrad greets with a warm smile. Once upon a time the young man before him had been nothing short of a nuisance, even if a brilliant lab tech. Sometimes it still surprises him that the wild DNA technician of years gone by is the same capable criminalist he knows now. "What can I do for you?"

"It's actually about Morgan," he starts, hesitantly. Ecklie's eyebrows rise in question but he nods for the younger man to continue. "I accidentally overheard you say that Thursday is her birthday and I didn't know if maybe there was a reason Morgan's never mentioned her birthday before. I don't need to know what if there is, but I didn't want to bring anything up or…"

Ecklie's hand raises to wave off the rest of whatever Greg is about to say and the smile from earlier widens. It isn't hard to tell, at least from his perspective, that the man before him cares about his daughter. Conrad's been watching their interactions since Morgan came to Vegas and Greg's once one-sided crush has bloomed into an affection he hopes his daughter realizes someday soon. He's a good man, good for her and the kind of man she really deserves—intelligent, kind, thoughtful and passionate about his work and about people.

"Morgan's never been the kind to make a big deal over her birthday, even as a kid. It embarrasses her to be fussed over," he explains thoughtfully. Despite his daughter's mild but smiling extroversion, a trait that is all her mother's, his own quieter demeanor has managed to come out in small ways—birthdays being one of them.

"That would certainly explain a few things." Such as how quickly she'd returned to work following the helicopter incident, how determined she'd been not to address it. Not for the first time Greg has to wonder at how beautifully complex his coworker is. "I guess that means the best thing I can do is honor her wishes then. Thanks." With that, he turns to leave the office and meet the woman in question for breakfast.

Greg is halfway out the door when the sheriff's voice calls him back. "Actually Greg, Morgan is a lot softer than she likes to seem. She really does appreciate sentiment, just without all the fanfare." An absent smile covers Greg's expression as he remembers a morning in the locker room—a quiet conversation and an unassuming gift in the form of a Frank Sinatra record. Of course. Sentiment without fanfare was exactly what Morgan appreciated.

"Thank you Conrad." And with that, he heads quickly for the parking lot, mind lost in thought, completely missing the expression on Conrad Ecklie's face.

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><p>Three days later, Morgan leaves a casual birthday dinner with her dad and makes her way to the crime lab for what she assumes will be just another shift. So far, thirty doesn't seem as bad as she's expected. The day has been fairly quiet and uneventful. Her mother and stepfather had sent her an open-ended plane ticket to come home for a visit, along with a box of her favorite chocolates. Her stepsister and stepbrother had each sent a card, filled with the latest pictures of her nieces and nephews, and a gift certificate to her favorite online store. She'd spoken with each member of her family on the phone, slept in and then spent the afternoon with her father. All in all, an ideal birthday.<p>

Now it's off to spend the rest of her day doing what she loves with all her favorite people.

She gets to the lab a little early—it had made no sense to go home between dinner and her shift—so Morgan heads to the locker room to change into more work appropriate clothing. No one at the lab, so far as she knows, has any idea when her birthday is, so Morgan is more than a little surprised when she opens her locker to find a vase filled with a bouquet of her favorite flowers waiting on the top shelf.

Knowing she's alone, Morgan pulls them down and towards her face, breathing in their light scent and smiling despite herself. No note accompanies the gift and her first thought is that her father must have left them. She takes another moment to enjoy the lingering scent before replacing them on the shelf and getting changed.

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><p>The aroma of coffee fills the break room as the rest of the team filters in for assignments as their shift begins. Uncharacteristically, Greg is missing as the clock strikes the hour and Morgan is just opening her mouth to question his absence when the man in question turns the corner, holding something in his hands. "Sorry I'm late," he calls, striding down the hallway to join the assembled group. "Lost track of time grocery shopping. But, I brought an apology." He explains, holding up a chocolate brownie cheesecake, as if bringing decadent treats is how they always cover arriving to work a minute or two behind schedule.<p>

No one questions good food as Sara breaks out plates and forks and Nick cuts the offering into slices—though Morgan finds it odd that Greg manages to bring her favorite dessert to work on the eve of her birthday (she doesn't mention it of course, for obvious reasons). Once everyone has enjoyed the snack and D.B. has handed out assignments, she hangs back waiting for Greg while he puts the few remaining slices into the refrigerator and quickly cleans up the mess, waving off her offerings of help.

"I've got it," he reassures her, rinsing off the silverware and plates after rolling up his sleeves. "But could you run and grab my kit from my locker? I didn't have time to get it earlier."

Morgan's eyes roll affectionately but she goes without comment, pulling open his locker a minute later. Instead of his kit, she finds a neatly wrapped package with a tag that has her name printed on top and she hasn't even leaned forward to pick it up when she hears a "happy birthday" from the doorway.

"How'd you know?" She asks, turning away from the gift and towards Greg.

"Overheard you talking to your dad. He said it would be okay to do something, as long as I didn't make a big deal about it. I hope that's alright?" He sounds worried and for a second time in the last five minutes, Morgan rolls her eyes without annoyance.

"You didn't have to do anything Greg." But her expression betrays her feelings as she continues to smile warmly.

"It's an important day," he shrugs, stepping into the room and gesturing back to his open locker. "Open it."

Morgan twists back around and reaches for the package wrapped in plain spring green paper. It's rectangle shaped, solid but not overly heavy. She examines it for a moment before carefully tugging at the taped down edges and pulling back the wrapping. Beneath them is a set of paperback books she and Greg had talked about a few weeks ago—a series she'd mentioned owning and loving once, but which she had somehow lost in the shuffle of moving. It's a simple, relatively inexpensive gift but the gesture (combined with the flowers, cheesecake and painstaking care that had no doubt went into not making a big deal about all of it) is remarkably thoughtful.

There's the tiniest hint of moisture in her eyes when she turns toward Greg, still holding the books in her hands. He seems worried again, afraid he's either gone too far or not far enough, but the worry is abated when Morgan sets down the stack of books to pull him into a hug.

"Thank you," she whispers, squeezing him tightly and wondering how she got so lucky. How was it possible to make someone feel so special while simultaneously downplaying the whole thing in respect of her wishes?

Morgan both hears and feels Greg reply quietly back, "anything for you," as they remain tangled in the hug; the embrace broken only when the sound of footsteps in the lab beyond remind them that they're suppose to be on their way to a crime scene. Before they can pull completely apart Morgan presses a quick, grateful kiss to Greg's cheek and then moves to put the books, tag and wrapping paper into her locker. Another whiff of flowery scent rushes towards her as she shuts the door and the smile that the sight and scent bring lingers through their shift.

They don't mention it the rest of the evening but when her father passes them working in the lab, heads bent and deep in conversation about a set of fingerprints, he asks how her night is going. The look on her face says more than even her "absolutely great" does and Conrad Ecklie wonders, not for the first time, just how much longer they're going to put off the inevitable.

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><p>My first installment in nearly a year. I hate that life gets so busy and I get so distracted that I don't write. I'm honestly trying to do better at it but I will make no promises about when you'll see another chapter, except that eventually you will (and hopefully far sooner). I still do have some partially written Quoteables to finish and a whole list of quotes I'd like to use.<p>

Readers of 'Dancing Away' never fear, that too is still in the works. I have, however, decided not to update again until it is completely finished because I don't want to make people wait eons for additional chapters. They are being worked on, slowly but surely, so when you do see an update, know that that means it's completely ready to go.

Thanks to all that have reviewed in the past, you guys are the reason I keep coming back even if belatedly. Any and all feedback on this next addition is greatly appreciated. If you have any quotes/ideas you'd like to see used, let me know in a review or PM.

Otherwise, thanks for reading. Take care & best wishes!

AkaOkamiRyu


	9. Faith

Two updates in a week! I know, crazy right? Especially after a nearly year long hiatus. But when I realized that I posted 'Small Things' exactly 11 years to the day since I signed up for this site, it felt a bit like a sign.

I've been dabbling and working on 'Faith' since shortly after last season ended. Actually, I've dabbled with a few different ways to resolve the cliffhanger and there's at least one more that will probably end up here sometime in the future as well as a few other Quotables on the subject of faith.

This is set post season 13, and semi-post episode 14x1. It mentions a few things that are resolved but doesn't go into much detail. It's not tied to anything else in the Quotable universe and their relationship is just good friends, though you could read between the lines at something a little more if it suits you. I have a few other comments but I'll save those for the end.

I will also forewarn there is absolutely no dialogue in this one-it's a very introspective, character study-esque piece.

Disclaimer: Just a teacher, writing for the joy of it. No profit made save the intense joy I get from a friendly review.

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><p>Faith<p>

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><p>"Faith is the strength by which a shattered world shall emerge into the light." Helen Keller<p>

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><p>He can count on his hands the number of times he's been in a church since he left home—and every single ticked off finger would represent a wedding or a funeral.<p>

Sometimes he feels a little ashamed for so thoroughly abandoning the religion of his childhood the moment he left for college. Back then it had been about youthful rebellion: he'd been away from his mother's well-intentioned smothering for the first time, free to make his own choices. As he got older, it became more about his work. It wasn't the science itself that made him doubt, as it had some of his peers and then colleagues, but rather the nature of what he saw on a day-to-day basis.

It was hard to believe in any God when surrounded by broken bodies and the pinnacle of human cruelty.

For years it was a point of abnormal friction between him and his otherwise adoring parents—the one thing they just couldn't understand about their perfect, miracle son. Eventually, it just became one of those things they stopped talking about, another thing to accept alongside the crazy haircuts, random hobbies and odd music.

But regardless of the years gone past or the reasons for them, he still remembers Sunday mornings: the rituals, the words, the feeling of both anonymity and acceptance and the quiet, peaceful oneness that immersed you. As a young man itching for identity, those feelings had been stifling and overwhelming-feelings he never really missed until suddenly he does.

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><p>It takes him twice as long to get ready to go home after shift (a term used loosely, considering they'd long since stopped tracking hours in favor of tracking any desperate leads). But it's all over now. Morgan is fine and Ellie's behind bars and Jim has lost the only woman he ever loved (it will take days to process, a lifetime to understand, he's sure; right now they just have the facts and they cling to them desperately).<p>

Greg is in the locker room, pulling on his jacket to leave, but his hands are shaking so badly he can't get the buttons done. How many times have they almost lost her? How many shifts now has she nearly not come back?

It makes him sick to count it out yet he can't help how they replay in his mind's eye as he fumbles through his buttons: the helicopter incident, her father's shooting, the fire with the young girl, Katy Hill in the park exacting her revenge and now this. But she's okay. Hurt, in the hospital but okay. Shaken, no doubt, recovering, but still a survivor.

He drops his keys twice attempting to put them in his pocket and he doesn't bother taking his dirty clothes home to wash—they remain balled up in the bottom of his locker, covered in blood and sweat and frustration. (He debates throwing them out, certain he never wants to see anything that reminds him of all this again but refrains).

His first instinct is that he needs to see her, to validate what everyone has already told him but he knows that Morgan is sleeping now—Ecklie's kept them up-to-date as often as he can pull himself away from his daughter. She needs to rest and recover and she'll need company when the grisly toll of this case pulls the sheriff away (he won't want to but there won't be much choice). Besides, he's in no shape to see her now: hands still wracked with tremors, skin pale, hair tugged in every direction, dark lines beneath his normally alert eyes. He knows from experience that you need comfort in times like these and he is not ready to provide any quite yet.

Instead he goes to his car, grips the wheel until his hands are steady enough to drive and debates where he should go. He hasn't eaten properly since she was abducted nor has he slept, yet neither hunger nor exhaustion take the forefront of his thoughts. He turns the keys and lets his mind take him where he most needs to go.

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><p>Greg's a bit surprised to realize that his mental autopilot has brought him to a Catholic church just a block away from Desert Palm hospital but he's too weary to question his subconscious. Instead, he locks his car door and trudges into the mostly empty building, sliding into the closest pew to the entrance.<p>

For several long minutes he just sits there, taking in what has become an unfamiliar scene but as the quiet surrounds him and the weight of the day seems to reach its apex, he slides forward and onto his knees. Muscle memory more than a decade old shines through and as he kneels, his hands grasp together before him, resting heavily on the back of the next pew.

The tears come just a heartbeat later—grateful and terrified, relieved and disgusted—his head resting on his folded hands, the liquid falingl to the worn stone floor. He cries until he can't anymore, each sniffle and droplet seeming to ebb away at the weight that has been pressing on his shoulders and his heart since Morgan first volunteered to go undercover.

When the tears are spent, words of prayer he hasn't spoken since his childhood fill his thoughts: thank you's and apologies and promises, littered with nonsense gibberish and half remembered scripture.

Eventually his thoughts drift away and sleep overtakes him: Greg nods off still kneeling, the pew holding most of his leaning weight. He remains that way until the crowd for evening mass begins to filter in, their voices catching his sleeping mind's attention.

Despite the awkward position and short length of his impromptu nap, he feels more rested than he has in weeks. Breathing a deep sigh, Greg pushes himself up (surprised to find he is not the least bit stiff) and settles back to collect his thoughts. One hand comes up to run across his face and, as it descends, he checks the time on his watch. Nearly four hours since he left the crime lab. He's about to stand when the priest walks in, the organ starts to play and evening service begins.

Out of respect, and the memory of desperate thankfulness and grateful promises recently uttered, he sits through the service.

It feels a lot like it once did but, rather than stifling, he finds comfort in the rituals, the words, the quiet, the anonymity and when he goes to take communion, the peace that envelopes him is a lot like coming home. He thumbs through pages and sings with the small assembly as mass starts and each time after and when they share the sign of peace, the elderly woman two pews ahead of him smiles widely when he hurries up to meet her.

By the time that mass is over, he feels like himself again and, more importantly, he feels like the sort of man he knows Morgan will need him to be: confident, grateful, patient and centered, a rock for whatever support and understanding she might seek. He shakes hands with the priest, crosses himself with Holy Water and wears the softest, gentlest of smiles when, twenty minutes later, he walks into her hospital room and takes the chair Conrad offers him.

He settles back and waits for her to wake up, knowing that he's in this for the long haul and that he's not in this alone.

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><p>I really think that, given the traumas Greg has faced over the years (lab explosion, fanny-smackin' beat down &amp; fall out) that he would identify better than most anyone (except maybe Sara &amp; Nick) with how Morgan is feeling. I also think it would shake him more than most others for those reasons. That was hinted at very briefly, but I'd like explore that more in the future as potentially a continuation of this or standalone work.<p>

Please know that it's not my intention to be preachy with this story. I grew up in a very loosely Catholic family that rarely attended church but I go now much for the same reasons mentioned in this story. I thought those sentiments would make sense given Greg's family background (most of my Norwegian descended friends come from fairly religious families) and the pull away from it would fit his character. Yet, even for his love of science and rebellious youth, it made sense to me that tragedy might subconsciously bring him back to the comfort of tradition.

Anyhow, let me know your thoughts on this chapter and any ideas/quotes for future installments. Special shout out thanks to crimescenecriminal and the two guests who reviewed last chapter and an extra large thank you to duskbutterfly whose reviews and positive support always warm my heart and motivate me to keep working (also, if you're an NCIS & Neric fan, highly recommend you check out their work!)

Thank you guys for everything!

Best Wishes & Take Care,

A.O.R.


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